


Fox in Distress

by Serriya (Keolah)



Series: Fox Paws [6]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons - Fandom, Werewolf: The Apocalypse
Genre: Adventure, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Dragons, F/M, Fantasy, Humanoid Animals, Kitsune, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-13
Updated: 2006-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keolah/pseuds/Serriya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The half-elf Morin finds himself on a fantastically foxy adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To the Cafe

The two of them now alone in the ice cream shop, Fantasia turned toward Morin, making a face at the phone call she'd just received. "We've got a dinner date," she said with a resigned sigh.

Morin said, "Oh?"

Fantasia wasn't quite so thrilled, though she wasn't really unhappy either, it was more of an odd sense of tension that hangs around her. "Yeah," she replied glumly, then managed a smile, "I don't suppose you missed that last call I took, right? Any guesses as to who would know I was back and would automatically get me toeing a line?"

It wasn't that the phone call had been _bad_ or anything, or even that Fantasia had been disappointed to get it, but... it'd been an awfully long time and there were just some things that didn't bear thinking about. Just at the moment she was acting like a long-tailed cat in a room full of sentient, malevolent rocking chairs... nervous and distracted as she dragged Morin out of the ice cream shop.

Morin came along close at her heels, wondering quietly just what was up. "So where're we going?"

"Little cafe over on Lester Street," Fantasia replied absently, then stopped suddenly near the local corner tree to drag out her cell phone again. "Never get there in time on foot," she muttered and hit the phone directory to call a cab.

"Where's that?" Morin asked. Then realized after a moment that he wouldn't know if she answered anyway, and said, "Er, right."

People seemed to be stirring a bit more as night fell, the city waking in the hours past the quiet moments between light and darkness. Men and women making their way to transit tubes to different levels after too-long days at mundane jobs mix should to shoulder with more exotic fare, goths and punks thrusting a finger at society while conforming to their own sub-culture... it was really quite an odd transformation.

Fantasia didn't seem to notice the walking fish tank, and nearly leapt for the cab as it arrived, "C'mon!" she said as she threw the door open and climbed in to rattle the cafe name to the driver. No anonymous Pakistani for them tonight, the driver is a _big_ , bald black man who looks like he could give his car a break and carry it on _his_ back for a while.

Morin jumped inside nervously, and said, "Is this thing safe?" He looked dubious.

The cab itself was a classic... at least around here. The engine might have been replaced to conform to the strict emission standards, but otherwise it was a black-and-yellow tank that seemed to sneer disdainfully at the much more common, and lighter, hovercars that went streaking past on their own errands.

"Safe?" The cabbie laughed as he swerved back out into traffic with a sneer at one of the lightflyers. "Hell of a lot safer than one o' those pieces of crap," he finished with a thumb jerked at one of their road companions.

The cab was surprisingly clean and comfortable, a detail that Fantasia absently notices as being vastly different from an average big-city cab. The driver... well, suffice to say that the ride wouldn't be boring since he was pretty damned aggressive on the road.

Morin wasn't really too concerned about the "safe" angle anyway, presuming that he wasn't going to shove them out and run into them or anything. He relaxed a bit and leaned back to enjoy the ride. Or something of that nature.

The cabbie's another rarity among his breed in that the route taken was the absolute shortest and fastest available, even going so far as to pass through some rather questionable alleyways that most people would think about twice before _walking_ down. Eyes reflected the headlights from atop a pile of garbage a moment before the cab went roaring through, and the cat owning them vanished with a hiss at the intruder.

"Here we go," the man rumbled, ducking the car into a space at the curb and pointed at the front of the corner cafe, then turned to extend a hand pointedly, "Thirty-six and change," he said.

Fantasia didn't bat an eye at the rate and dropped a fifty bill into his hand, then went to climb out. Morin climbs out as well, looking considerably better than Thorn and Shenzel did after the last ride with Fantasia the Dragon. He gave a glance over the place they had arrived at thoughtfully.

The cafe wasn't in the best of neighborhoods, in fact it was the worst that Morin had had the misfortune to see since arriving here, not that he had been here long. Oh, it was clean enough, but there was entirely too much graffiti on nearly every wall in side that was rather pointed in identifying this as someone's territory. The people wandering the streets weren't the most savory either, many of them the down and out dregs of society.

There were a few exceptions, of course, utterly normal people scurrying through the darkening gloom with their heads down and avoiding eye contact in the hopes of making it through another night without getting mugged or worse, but they were in the minority. The rest of the population consisted of knots of tough-looking young people in a dizzying array of punk attire, gleaming chrome, and bright, obnoxious hair colors.

On the opposite end of the spectrum is the cafe... its walls were untouched by the paint marring the rest of the buildings and the patrons that could be seen through the clean glass windows or sitting on the patio set to one side were another oddity. They ran the full range from scruffy to high class, mingling elbow to elbow without any sign of bad feeling or conflict.

Morin glanced at the graffiti and thought that it was nice for people to express their artistic talents, entirely failing to get what it actually meant. Graffiti around Torn Elkandu tended to be extremely random, pointless, and meaningless. after all. He looked over toward the cafe and headed along with her cheerily.

Fantasia had undergone a subtle transformation in appearance, her clothing shading more toward a tasteful and modest combination somewhere along the way. She seemed oddly torn between nervousness and bright cheer as she led the way into the cafe. The faces might be different to her, but the place hadn't changed much at all since the last time she was in here, and the proprietor was the same as ever.

Not surprising, as Morin noticed the elegant, sharply pointed ears of an elf as the thing, graceful man walked toward them and smiled with genuine warmth. "Fantasia! It has been _far_ too long," he chided. "Where have you been?"

"Long story, Mac," she replied, unable to resist grinning at him. "Morin, this is Macphadden something-something, of High Court somewhere. Mac, this is Morin."

The elf looked curiously at her companion and nodded in greeting. "Any friend of a friend is certainly welcome here. Even ones who forget the simple courtesies of proper introductions!"

He gave Fantasia a stern glare, though humor glittered in his eyes. The fae ever had a fascination for the vitality of mortals, and would often forgive their small foibles.

Morin snickered softly. "Nice to meet you," he said. "Nice place you've got here."

"Oh this?" Mac replied with a casual wave to encompass the setting. "A small thing that has been in my possession in one form or another since the city's founding some hundreds of years ago. there must always be places where the Folk may gather and ease the world's weariness among the company of others. But you've not come to speak of history!" He shifted topic suddenly. "What may we offer today?"

Fantasia made a face. "Yeah, uh, I think you probably got a call to reserve a table. The usual?"

Mac seemed to think about it, then smiled lightly. "Ah yes, of course, I must be growing forgetful in my old age. The table has indeed been prepared for company, I believe you know the way. I'll see that refreshments are brought out to you."

"Thanks Mac," Fantasia replied.

The atmosphere of the place apparently worked to ease her nervousness. Not that the elf would ever mention the spells which had been carefully woven into the very foundations to gently wear away those who sought sanctuary here. He left them with a polite bow, and she led Morin through the place and out to through the sliding glass doors that led to the patio.

Morin let himself get dragged along, walking lightly and looking around at the place a bit as he went. "So you used to come here often?" Morin wondered.

Considering the odd mixture of people, it was even stranger that the underlying current in the cafe was one of ease and camaraderie, even the group watching a soccer match on the television at one corner insulted each other in good humor. Were Morin able to sense it, he'd realize that ninety percent of the patrons were either shapeshifters, fae, and a handful of the elusive mages. A most interesting place indeed.

"Oh yes," Fantasia grinned as they walked out onto the patio and make their way to a table in the corner. "It's always been a great place to come and just hang out for a while. You'd be amazed at the people you can meet here, I've even run across the occasional dragon!"

Morin was used to hanging around Elkandu, who didn't normally hang around mensch much but mingled in any odd combinations with one another, and hence that wouldn't seem particularly strange to him.

"Dragon?" he said. "How would they fit through the doorway?"

Fantasia giggled as she eased into a chair. "They're shapeshifters of course, silly. Dragons are about as magic-crazy as my own kind are, though most of them have been around a _lot_ longer than we have. They're darned evasive about sharing the things that they've picked up along the way, too." She donned a pout at that. "And Gaia knows I've _tried_." Her apparent mood was mercurial as always, and she grinned again. "Even had one of them as a mayor here at one point, though I doubt he's run again since. I remember him making a solemn vow of political abstinence by the end of his term."

Morin snickered softly. "Yeah, who in their right mind would get involved in politics? Right, so they're like Scregor then, I suppose."

"No kidding!" She smirked, then looked up as Mac appeared to put out a couple trays of appetizers. "Screg...? Oh, hang on a sec!" She hopped up, apparently forgetting her earlier case of nerves by this point. "One sec!" she said again.

She hopped over the patio railing and trotted to the newsstand she'd just noticed was standing on the sidewalk nearby. Seems the newspaper industry managed to survive somehow.

Mac raised a brow, then shook his head with fond exasperation at the girl and looked to Morin. "Can I get you something to drink while you await your company?"

Morin chuckled softly and said, "I don't suppose you have any worfberry juice by chance? Or some lernade?"

A sudden disturbance drew their attention from the direction Fantasia had gone, in fact and _naturally_ involving the crazed and wyrd-bound fox. A dark car came to a halt half on and half off the sidewalk, and three short, beefy men tumbled out of the back... something definitely odd about them, though it was tough to place a finger on just what it was offhand. They made a beeline for her, though, and with a yelp of surprise she was grabbed and spirited by the toughs to their car. All in the span of a few heartbeats, quite an efficient little band!


	2. The Tale Begins

Morin blinked for a moment and just managed to say, "Er, what was that?"

Mac flashed Morin a look of blank shock, then shook his head and moved with quick agility to vault over the rail and see what could be done. His normal-seeming appearance faded away as the illusion that it was, revealing a much more regal aspect beneath. Armor of fine, shimmering blue scales and a slender glowing sword were the two most obvious changes, and he let loose a challenging cry.

The last tough threw the elf the finger, but wasted no time diving back into the car afterward. Probably for the best, as the elven blade sliced through the air where the man had been and cut a deep furrow in the car's door. Mac had to leap back as the car slewed violently, nearly clipping him, and sped away...

Morin stood up and realized he should probably do something. He vaguely wondered if his Void Magic would even work properly here. Figuring now was as good a time as any to find out, he entirely failed to think of anything actually useful to do anyway.

Mac uttered a low oath at the near miss and made a final swipe at the vehicle as it pulled away and sped quickly from sight around a corner. At least his final action took off a part of the vehicle's bumper, small consolation though that might be. He shook his head slowly, long blonde hair held by a circlet of the same metal as his armor, and walked back to return to the patio.

The brief altercation drew attention from people in the street, but their reactions were pretty much what you'd expect in any urban warzone... they went quickly about the task of finding cover, then moved on quickly when the obvious spate of violence was past.

The elf vaulted lightly back over the rail and stalked fluidly back to the table to mutter a single word with clear disgust, "Redcaps..."

Morin stood there staring at where the vehicle had been, having no idea what a "redcap" might be. "Oh," Morin said blankly. "I'm sorry, I'm so useless. What just happened here?"

Mac sighed and looked at Morin with an expression composed of parts exasperation and a quiet compassion. "You've need to hone your wits, lad." A faint Irish brogue seemed to have crept into his accent somewhere along the way, probably his native region and showing only in the moment's stress. "Redcaps are blackguards of the worst," he said, "Disciples of the Winter Court, minions of the shadow fae, the Unseleighe. I dinnae know whence they may be taking the lass but I doubt not their intention is less than honorable, and someone is going to be hardly pleased that this passed whilst within the circle of my hospitality."

"Um..." Morin said, not having understood a word of that. "So what are we gonna do?"

"Tis _we_, now is it?" Mac asked with a glimmer of amusement. "Aye, perhaps there's spirit enough in ye, lad, and I've a notion where the scoundrels may first have gone. Few enough are the freeholds in this land, even with the Dreaming fully waked, and only one would I think they might find their path unbarred. Do you have the will and need to follow that path, lad?"

"Considering my company as of late, I'd think I would have been locked in a padded room by now if I didn't..."

"Well enow, then," Mac replied with an approving nod. "The lady has ever been a friend to the fae, both as a spinner of the Dreaming and an ally of our catkin, so a debt is owed beyond the bounds of hosting. Come."

He gestured for Morin to follow and walked back into the main cafe area, his appearance returning to the more mundane as they passed the panes of the doors. Morin headed along after him, slightly unhinged by the entire incident. Some Elkandu, he knew, had trained themselves to be able to react to anything with lightning-fast reflexes. He wasn't exactly one of them, however.

Mac stopped by the bar to pass a word with the winsome redhead tending it in an archaic ren-faire costume, telling her that he would be out for a while and to hold his calls, then headed for the back door that led to the alleyway. A sleek red sportscar was parked in the shadows, every line of it fairly _oozing_ with old money. He patted the hood in passing and the headlights blinked on and then off again as though in greeting.

"Get in," he said as he swing the driver's door upward and open. "We've little time to lose were we to bring the plans of the Unseleighe to ruination."

Morin got in readily and took a seat. "Why does everyone go around in these contraptions? Why don't they just teleport or something?"

"Tradition and conservation of energy," Mac replied as the doors on both sides swung down to secure themselves and the engine purred into life. "And not all folk would have the knowing or doing of it, small few enough have the means."

The car edged forward and curved out of the alley to the street, then turned to follow the long-familiar path without any further urging.

"So, what, there's no portals or Nexi around?" Morin wondered.

"Only the Dreaming holds such wonders any longer," Mac replied, stretching out in the comfortable leather bucket seat and lacing his hands behind his head. "Long ago were the mortal and Dreaming as one, but the slow erosion of belief and the iron-bound tenets of man's faith in the Church sealed it well and gone beyond their ken."

Morin blinked. "I don't know what believing anything has to do with anything... no matter how many people believe the world is round won't make it so..."

"Perhaps, and perhaps not," Mac replied lightly. "Yet might you question that long ago when the masses believed wholly that the earth was indeed flat and led only to dragons beyond what was known." He chuckled. "Aye, there are limits indeed to what mere faith may bring about, but the very nature of the Dreaming relies on such ephemeral flights of fancy. All is possible therein, where the mundane is let loose to imagine."

"This is a very strange world," Morin muttered. "But my magic will still work won't it?"

Soon enough they passed into a section of town dedicated to nightclubs of various flavors, people of every description thronging the sidewalks. There was an air of frenetic energy among them, but something seemed forced in it, and Mac's expression changed to a thin veneer of disapproval at the glittering display. Seemingly it would be a contradiction to his thirst for life, but this world seemed full of similar oddities.

He turned to the question asked of him after a moment. "Oh, I'd hazard it will surely not abandon you, though the spirits may turn it in ways unexpected when your eye is turned from them."

Morin gave a grunt and looked to see where they might be going. "So where are we going?"

"The Intruda Triangle," Mac responded with a twinkle of humor. "A land which gained its name from a defender now gone to dust who made certain that all who threatened the wellbeing of his domain simply vanished. His kin..."

He gestured out the windshield into the night, a clear line separating the bustling activity of the club district from the residential areas that lay beyond, still and quiet in the deepening night. The source of his gesture would be a pack of motorcyclists that had just turned out of an alleyway beyond the boundary and cruised with lazy confidence down the boulevard toward them. Appearances would suggest nothing more than a gang of hoodlums and malcontents, leather being abundant in their wardrobe, but there was a subtle difference in them that wasn't immediately apparent.

"The Bastet," Mac continued quietly as the 'cycles rumbled past, splitting into two streams to go around the vehicle.

Morin watched quietly, not really understanding much where they were heading anyway, nor really caring. "The who?" he wondered.

"The werecats," Mac clarified. "We're entering their territory now, though those beholden to Hidden Glenn Freehold are free to pass among them, as are any others who might seek passage without ill intent. Only those seeking to bring harm to any within this domain need fear them. The restless dead are rarely welcome."

The car turned down the alley the gang had emerged from and continued along a maze of narrow passages.

"Restless dead?" Morin said. "There's zombies around here?"

"No, another kind entire, the vile drinkers of blood," Mac sneered disdainfully. "Though there is a treaty within this domain, and aye worldwide, their kind is not well-favored by mine own. They are a mirror of what we desire most, draining the very life of the world for their unnatural hunger. It is they who erected that bastion of degradation through which we passed, for there do they hunt in their numbers."

Morin frowned a moment, and said, "Oh, vampires you mean? Right, them, yeah..."

"Verily," Mac said.

Mac unfastened his seatbelt as the car glided to a stop in a courtyard surrounded on all sides by apartment buildings and alleys threading off in various directions. It was an odd place to find in the middle of the urban sprawl, a neat and lovingly tended small park with a giant tree standing proudly at the center of the grass quadrangle.

"Come," Mac added and climbed out.

Morin climbed out and followed after him, obviously having forgotten about the entire seatbelt business (more likely just had no idea what one was in the first place anyway) and went out after him.

Mac strode over to the tree, disdaining his mortal seeming and returning once more to the natural guise of the elven lord. He stopped and reached to touch the rough bark with gentle reverence, then knelt to make a passing gesture over a certain root. At the motion, a stone tablet becomes visible, its surface inscribed with a series of intricate runes and sigils.

"The Doorway," he explained, then intoned a liquid chant.

The tree shimmered in their sight and a portal opened in its trunk.

A sense of disorientation washed over Morin as he stepped through the portal, and as it cleared he found himself standing in a great chamber that looked like it might have been hewn from a darker image of the Taj Mahal. Constructed entirely of marble, great sculpted pillars rise to the vaulted ceiling far above, and a multi-tiered fountain burbles serenely at the center.

A handful of beings were present but paid them no more than passing interest, returning to their own pastimes after the briefest show of curiosity. A small group of fae consisting of a male satyr and two elf-maids lounged at the fountain, the satyr perched on its rim and regaling them with a tale which he embellished with the occasional melodic line with his traditional pipes.

Silently a tiger padded from one of the corridors leading deeper into the palace and went to sit nearby the group of fae, listening to the story. Its form rippled suddenly and a young woman stretched languidly out on her stomach, wearing the very minimum that the loosest definition of modesty would demand.

Morin looked around the vicinity, unable to help but stare at everything for a long moment, then he blinked. Certainly the Elkandu had made him used to the exotic, but there was something very different about the entire feel of the place than from Torn Elkandu.

Mac reached to touch Morin's shoulder lightly and snare his attention, the smile one that recognized the wonder that any of the fae shared with him when it came to dealing with the Dreaming... though the shapeshifters called it the Umbra.

"This way," Mac said.

Mac headed for one of the corridors to lead them along a confusion of spacious passages and equally exotic rooms with quiet deliberation.

The most unusual was the chamber that had a swimming pool at its center, the waters dimly lit by sourceless light and casting shimmering shadows on the towering statues of felines that sat at each of its corners. This seemed to be a favorite place for the cats as there were a number of them either swimming in one form or another or lounging at the edges of the pool or atop the statues.

Their path led eventually to an open area with the breath of life kissing the air, the fragrance of the garden a gentle caress to the senses. The sun shines brightly overhead, though its shape was dimmed in a strangely colored sky. Mac continued on to the center of the garden where there was a clearing dominated by an elegantly crafted throne encrusted with precious stones and sculpted scenes of fantastic creatures.

Fae of various types danced attendance to the court, the politics of the fae as alien to the human mind as the human idea was to the fae and seeming to consist more of small games of display and one-upsmanship than any sort of debate. A slender woman in gleaming armor sat upon the throne, the crown at her brow unnecessary to announce her regal status.

"Lady Eithne," Mac called in greeting as he drew near and offered a bow.

Morin followed nervously, hesitantly giving a bow as well and staying quiet. Better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a fool than open it and remove all doubt, he thought. Then again, when had he ever listened to that advice?

Eithne smiled warmly. "Macphadden, it is a rare pleasure that you grace us with your presence. To what do we owe this honor?" The exchange was unusual enough that it drew in the silent attention of the attending courtiers.

"I apologize for my lack of manner, to so displease you, Lady," Mac replied with courtly sincerity. "Other matters ever demand my attention, though I might wish ever to remain beneath your eye." Perhaps laying it a bit thick, but it drew a hint of approval from Eithne, and he continued, "Tis in fact an incident beyond the Dreaming which draws me here, for Redcaps of the Winter Court have offended me greatly." He explained the incident at the look of inquiry from the lady, then added, "I would ask the aid of the Court to tend to this matter, as friends to those who have truly been wronged and a debt is owed."

"I can do nothing," Eithne replied with quiet regret.

Morin hadn't exactly expected to get any help in the matter. It seemed fairly inevitable to always fall down to random schmucks like him to get the job done. Whatever. Even if he was the worst Void Mage alive, he could still do something or other. Or something.

Mac wasn't quite so complacent and replied with exquisitely controlled anger, "I fail to see why you refuse to aid in this, Lady, for the workings of the Unselieghe are ever of interest to us that they may be thwarted. To do so in the face of a debt to be paid would stain the honor of this court!"

Eithne's eyes glittered dangerously and her tone was ice as she replied, "Still yourself. I said nothing of refusal, for the honor of this Court is _mine_ as well. I said that I _cannot_ , and there is a vast difference." She sighed softly at Mac's puzzlement, and continued, "The ones you seek passed recently through, claiming right by Tale to do so. I could do nothing to deny them, though I recognized the one with them well."

Mac groaned and turned away, rubbing the bridge of his nose in dismay. Morin frowned faintly, having no idea what she was talking about, but again, didn't say anything. Still, he wondered just where Fantasia was and how they were going to find her.

Mac paced angrily, then turned back after a look at Morin. "Our laws are clear regarding the right of those outside the Folk, should there be that which binds their Tale." His eyes were challenging as he continued, "I demand you seek the threads and allow this one passage on the Road."

Eithne looked faintly surprised and turned her attention to Morin. "Is that what you would wish? Do not answer lightly, for once set upon the Tale there is no turning from it until its final page is writ. That road may be open to you, but the story does not always turn as might be desirable."

Morin blinked in confusion. "Er... I'm sorry, what?"

"By your leave, Lady?" Mac asked politely, then turned to Morin after a brief nod from her. "You may not know the ancient ways of the Folk and the ways in which we have and are bound, the most vital aspect being our connection to the Dreaming. In this place, a Tale has great power indeed, for it is the very stuff of legends which fuel the imagination and the Dreaming itself.

"Each Road which leads into the Dreaming comprises a Tale, though their extent varies from path to path, and that Tale cannot be abandoned midway. Consider it a quest, from which you may not be forsworn or absolved by any means save by death. The Unseleighe who bore Fantasia away have embarked on such a Tale, though what it might be there is no way of telling for the possibilities are indeed endless.

"We of the Folk can _not_ intrude upon the Tale of another, by ancient pact, yet those beyond the Dreaming... such as yourself, may do so if there is reason and a thread which might be woven into the tapestry. A path may be opened to you to follow, but it will be alone as none here may aid."

Morin was fairly confused, what strange magic this, but to hell with it he thinks. "I'll do it," Morin said quietly.

"Then so may it be," Eithne decreed and rose from the throne. "I will prepare and show you the Road which must be followed."

She beckoned him to follow as she stepped down from the platform and walked to the edge of the clearing. Mac moved to follow as well, but she stayed him with a complex gesture that stayed his step and left him unhappily remaining amongst the courtiers.

Morin followed after her. At least he was somewhat more comfortable with all this unfamiliar magic than with the technology he had seen before. Magic he was used to at least.

Eithne led the way through the shaded pathways of the garden, though Morin was fairly certain that the random turnings not only opened before them but were being directed to her purpose.

"Beware the Road," she said as they went along. "All the rules which you have held as truth throughout life may no longer hold true in whatever place it leads you. Only the story matters to the Tale, and what must be _will_ be."

Morin gave a nod, and said, "Very well. I shall heed your words..."

They reach the garden wall, a towering expanse of smooth marble, and find a stout wooden door seemingly built into it. She stopped and turned back to him with an appraising look, folding her arms delicately as she considered him.

"You likely will find the path confusing, for all that you are familiar with the workings of magic and its ways in your heart's own home," she said quietly. "Yet I think you will find the story's end."

She dismissed the odd wyrd with a flash of amusement and approached him with low steps. "Kneel and accept the blessing of the Folk for your journey, traveler and Champion of a friend of the fae."

Morin knelt as bidden. Everyone was always confusing, but that didn't really bother him that much. It was always something more to learn and see. Eithne drew the slender sword at her hip and touched Morin's shoulder lightly with it, then lifted it to touch the other.

"The grace of the fae holds in your blood, so may it guide you on the Road which you follow," Eithne intoned.

Morin felt a surge of magic coil around him, and a look at himself showed that his clothing had been replaced by something much more suited to the current surroundings. The silver-blue, finely scaled armor which clung like a second skin on the elf woman's form now settled comfortably on him as well, its weight not that much greater than his own clothes had been. A few plates strengthened the design at forearms, shin, and breast, but overall _seems_ to be more decorative than any great protection. It might take a little longer to get used to the sword which hung at his waist.

Morin blinked faintly and looks himself over. He was no warrior to be sure, but that was hardly going to stop him, he thought. At least this entire venture seemed safer than dealing with Sardill.

"A gift from my House to yours," Eithne said softly and touched the gem that sat at the center of the circlet he now wore as well. "It may serve you well within the Tale, for ever have they dwelt in the realm of the fantastic wherein our magics are at their strongest."

She stepped back and walked to the door, then uttered a fluid syllable so that it may be opened.

"Your path lies beyond, though I may not say how far beyond your goal has passed in the intervening time," Eithne said.

Morin gave his thanks politely and climbed to his feet, and without a glance back went to head on. Again the sense of vertigo and disorientation assailed his senses, and when it passed he found himself on a dirt path running through a great plain. Knee-high grasses and wildflowers rustle in a faint breeze that came from behind him, and no sign of the wall he'd just passed through was to be found. Far behind him rose a range of craggy purple mountains, their tops obscured in misty clouds speckled with dots of some great flying beasts.

In the other direction, far in the distance, could be seen the beginnings of a forest. The sun shone high overhead, another indication that he was nowhere near where he had been before where night had recently fallen. Nothing else stirred in his range of vision or leapt immediately out to give any clue as to where he should go next... perhaps the choice was the first part of the Tale.


	3. Following Foxes

So, Morin thought. He was the daring hero off to rescue the damsel in distress now? Pity that he felt like a level 1 ranger or something with 10 HP and likely to get maimed by a stiff wind. Having no idea where to go, Morin set off at random, figuring it was as good as any other.

Flipping a mental coin got him started off in the direction of the forest, though more logical and lazy considerations suggested that it was bound to be the easier choice of the two. The prospect of hiking up endless mountain trails like some half-elf/half-goat wasn't one to be greatly cherished. So, his direction decided, it was off he went across the gently rolling plain on the dirt path.

The forest had got to be further than he first thought, though, since a couple hours passed without any real noticeable change in its distance. By that point he was likely wishing for something to drink and remembering fondly the appetizers that had been left back at the cafe. He didn't think that they actually had any lernade anyway.

Nothing presented itself in the way of food, but he _did_ see what might be a well ahead and to the right of the 'road'. He looked off to see what was ahead, heading along at an easy pace. He didn't figure he was going to be getting there in any great hurry anyway, so no reason to kill himself trying to run a marathon, he figured.

As he approached the well, he noticed something odd... it looked like someone was taking a snooze in the shadow of the rock circle, a stout and heavy-muscled man in peasant clothing and a red cap covering his face against the persistent sunlight. He was also snoring louder than a buzzsaw.

Morin paused to look as he drew near, cocking his head and peering at the man. Mac had said something about 'redcaps' he recalled, and that was definitely headwear of a crimson hue...

The man's build was reminiscent of the ones who'd pulled the snatch, too, though they'd been dressed more like mini-mobsters than your average, filthy, smelly peasant type. A gust of wind brought a rather unpleasant odor wafting from the man's direction, an unwholesome reek that went beyond body odor and reminded more of... meat gone bad, perhaps.

Morin made a face. Oh dear, he thought, these didn't seem the more pleasant types at all. It remind him somewhat of the orcs back at home.

The buzzsaw snore broke off suddenly and the man stirred... but it just turned to a readjustment of the cap over his eyes before the snore returned in full, cutting force. Didn't look like he had any inclination to do anything more energetic than sleep the day away, certainly not chase down a traveler.

Morin shrugged a bit and continued on his way, not feeling that disturbing him would be the most useful of things to do -- he figured it would, if he was any _more_ like the orcs, just end up unpleasantly and not actually help any. Leaving the well and sleeping redcap well enough alone, Morin continued on for a while longer, the forest _maybe_ drawing a bit nearer as the sun made its way slowly toward the horizon.

A low hiss caught his attention suddenly, not so much like the sound a snake might make as someone going, "Psst!"

Morin paused again and glanced around, attempting to discern its location curiously. The source would appear to be a small shrub growing off to one side of the path. As if to strengthen the information, the shrub rustled and Morin heard a repeat of the call.

Morin approached curiously to investigate, raising an eyebrow. There was a cliche in here somewhere, but he couldn't think of what exactly. A rabbit poked its head out from beneath the shade of the bush and looked at him, its nose twitching as it seemed to study him.

Morin looked back, cocking his head and studying it as well. "Well... hello there," he said.

It hopped out of the cover and sat on its haunches, ears flicking. "You always go around talking to rabbits?" it asked. "Not necessarily smart with my cousin Vorp out there." Other than the speaking thing, it appeared to be an unremarkable gray and white rabbit, complete with fluffy tail.

"No, not generally, but I can't say that I've met overly many rabbits," Morin said. "Although most of the ones which I have met were rather taller and wearing suits."

"Nah, that'd be my _other_ cousin, Vinny," the rabbit replied, still looking him over, then went on. "You ain't got a clue about where you are or the rules of the road, do ya pal?"

"Nope, can't say that I do," Morin replied. "Well, I could, but I'd be lying."

"Hah, at least yer honest, which'll actually mean something in this screwed-up realm," the rabbit replied, then took a moment to strip a leaf from the shrub and nibble on it before going on. "So anyway, here's the deal. this is the fantasy realm, think of it as every cliche and bad melodrama you've ever heard of and then add the _really_ obscure stuff. It's one big damned mess.

"Don't know what brought you to this godsforsaken little hellhole, and I don't really care, but I'll clue you in on one thing... If you want to take up residence here, go right ahead, no sweat off anyone's nose, but if you want to get _out_ again then you gotta fulfill whatever quest got assigned to you when you came in. Real popular one is dragon-slaying, natch, but there's treasure-hunting and all sorts of others.

"Don't _ever_ forget that this place is one big ball of cliche and cornball dreams, and whatever shows up and looks like it's somehow different from the world around it is probably important in some bizarre fashion or another."

Serriya all over again, Morin thought with a smirk. "I think in this case I'm supposed to, er, rescue a damsel in distress." He smirked some more. "Or something like that."

The rabbit fell over backwards, then pushed itself back up. "DiD, that old saw? Gah, pal, you got screwed! At least with some other quests there's something to gain out of it. Bah! Anyway, that's your lookout... speaking of, I'd warn you about something else, things aren't always quite like what they appear here."

It hopped to all fours and looked around for something to prove a point, then shrugged and approached the shrub. Its mouth opened to a really unpleasant degree and had rows and rows of really ugly-looking teeth, and it snapped closed over the entire shrub. The rabbit chewed and swallowed, then belched.

"Ahhh yeah, that's the ticket, can't always find a shrubbery when you want one."

Morin looked completely unfazed. "Hungry a bit?"

"Heheh, don't let complacency get ya, kid," the rabbit said, "There's a lot bigger and nastier things than me around here, and some of them have teeth that're gonna ignore that fancy elf-can yer wearing."

Its ears twitched, as though hearing something, and then it suddenly streaked away as a white fox streaked out of the long grass and nearly nabbed it. The fox caught his attention, and he looked over curiously, wondering... It couldn't be, could it? Meh.

The two vanished back into the grasses and Morin quickly lost sight of even the twisting, jagged path they cut through. Morin frowned a bit thoughtfully and stared off where they had been for a long moment before turning and continuing on the way he had been going.

Oddly enough, he reached the forest edge shortly thereafter, though he'd been hiking for hours without any real apparent progress and it had seemed no nearer after meeting the rabbit. The cool shade granted by the thick forest cover was a welcome change from the warmth of the plains, even if some of the sounds that echoed among the trees seemed a bit beyond the scope of nature's norm.

Morin took the apparent violation of the laws of physics in stride, hardly even registering in his mind. He strolled through the trees, taking a good look and listen around at the vicinity as he went, and hardly pausing for a moment to wonder just where he was going anyway.

The dirt path he'd been following twisted and turned through the trees, skirting some rather nasty patches of thorns and other unpleasant-looking flora. A little while in he ran across something a bit more promising, a patch of what look like blackberry bushes that were loaded with fruit.

Oh, he thinks, worfberry bushes! Or a reasonable facsimile thereof. Hmm, no, he thought, they didn't _quite_ look like worfberries. What if they were poisonous or something?

As he looked and thought the suddenly dark thought, a flash of white drew his attention among the bushes and a fox poked its pointed muzzle out from among the thorny branches to take a curious look around. Its muzzle vanished suddenly, then reappeared further along as the whole emerged from under the bushes and it took the opportunity to devour a conveniently placed berry, apparently unaware of anyone nearby or paying no heed.

That was a bit much to be coincidence, he thought. "Fantasia?" he said tentatively, stepping closer.

The fox's head snapped in the direction of the voice and it froze in place, tense with the instinct toward flight.

"Hello?" he said quietly, trying not to make any sudden moves.

Dark eyes blinked at the new sound, but the fox didn't seem any more inclined to bolt than it did a moment before. In fact it seemed more curious than anything as it edged near the potential cover of the thorny berry bushes and drew a little closer for a better look at this strange new thing.

"It's okay, I won't hurt you," he said gently.

Sharp-pointed ears tilted forward, though it was obvious that it was listening to tone rather than content as it ducked into the brush and then poked its muzzle back through a break in the cover a few yards closer. Coincidence in the land of bizarre circumstances?

Morin could hardly think it was coincidence, but wasn't quite sure what was really going on. Nonetheless, he crouched down slowly and said, "Hi there."

The fox had gotten about as close as it could from within the cover of the bushes and seemed a little too wary to leave their safety and the open path to flee just now. It watched him silently, plainly curious about something completely different than anything else in these woods.

"How are you doing?" Morin said quietly, looking down at the fox pensively.

It didn't seem to make any sense out of the words, but grew a bit less tense as this strange creature still hadn't done anything that could be considered even remotely threatening. Curiosity started to get the better of it, and the sleek-coated animal crawled out from beneath the bushes, but still within easy reach of them.

"Funny meeting you here," Morin went on. "Wherever here is. And whoever you are. But an awfully big coincidence, methinks..."

A foxish head tilted, still listening and watching him intently enough to give the impression that it was _trying_ to figure out what these noises meant. It had a sudden very non-animalistic thought and tilted its muzzle to snare one of the berries, then edged forward to gingerly place it on the ground almost within arm's reach.

"Well, now, what have we here?" Morin said quietly, slowly reaching out a hand so as not to startle it. "You're a very pretty little fox, you know that?"

Definitely something more than met the eye, here, as the fox perked at the compliment and settled to its haunches with an obviously smug and satisfied attitude. What fox _wasn't_ the single most intriguing thing in the universe, anyway?

"Well, well, well," Morin said. "Yes, a very pretty fox indeed." He grinned faintly at the fox. "So what are you doing out here, hmm? Just going for a nice stroll in the park, or what?"

The fox preened smugly, then tilted its head as Morin continued, sensing that something else was intended. It rose to all fours and darted away along the edge of the berry patch leading into the forest, then stopped and looked back at him expectantly.

Morin raised an eyebrow and straightened. "Hmm. Do you want me to follow you now, is that it?" He approached the fox slowly.

The fox leapt into the air and dances a moment as it got the point across, projecting a very silly image overall. It darted a little further along, then paused to look back again with its tail twitching, making _sure_ of it.

"Oh yes, I see," Morin said with a grin, continuing to follow after the fox.

It led onward on a twisting path through the trees, though it had to backtrack a couple times after realizing it was leading down a path that Morin couldn't follow. As the day dropped toward dusk, though, a town came into view through the trees.

Morin continued to follow as best as he could manage. He paused a bit to look when he saw the signs of something resembling civilization. "So is this where we're going then? Is this where you're taking me?"

The fox circled back near Morin, though still just outside of reach, and simply looked up at him silently for a moment before darting off into the cover of the nearby undergrowth in a blur of motion. He would never know about the bandits that had been averted by skipping certain sections of the path, but sometimes taking an unusual approach had its advantages.

Morin said, "Okay then." He headed off into the town thoughtfully.

The town was a typical fantasy-style arrangement with peasant huts on the fringes and then growing more prosperous further inward up to a small keep at the very center. Farmers were leaving their fields with the last rays of the setting sun... and all of them were anthro foxes.

Morin kept an eye out for anyone dressed completely outlandishly and walking around wielding a very large sword in spite of the fact that nobody seemed to notice that. Failing that, he just went to look around.

Peasants of any reality or unreality were the same and tended to ignore little things like armed and armored people with deliberate energy... other than half-fearful glances to make sure that they weren't going to be attacked. As he moved inward, though, he got a few more pointed glances as an obvious outsider among the consistently kitsunish populace.

Morin didn't seem too concerned about their looks, not really having expected much differently considering the circumstances, more or less. Such reactions seemed common enough in any settlement primarily populated by one species, after all.

Nothing really leapt out as interesting or of great note or out of the ordinary as Morin continued along the single main road of the town. He came to the village square, set just before the higher-rent district, and a pillar to one side drew his attention that had wanted posters and similar notices posted on it... in English, of course, though it used a horrid older variety with creative spelling and funky designs.

One of the posters was for ten thousand gold, a rather princely sum, and depicted a fox of distinctly roguish appearance with a forester's cap complete with feather sticking from it at a jaunty angle, the nefarious Robin Hood and his merry band are clearly not well-liked by the law here any more than they were in folklore and stories. He was about to move on when a final announcement riveted his attention completely.

Apparently the local Duke's daughter had been kidnapped by agents unknown and spirited away, only to be expected really in a fantasy setting, but the interesting part was that the picture could be a dead-ringer for Fantasia.

"Well, that would just figure, wouldn't it?" Morin murmured quietly, reading over the signs. "Now the question is just what to do about it, I suppose... Well, what to do is obvious, I guess, it's the 'how' that's the question.."

"What are you about there, stranger?" came a gruff voice from behind him.

"Just talking to myself," Morin said, turning around.

The speaker was a burlier-than-usual fox of traditional red coloration with white and black markings, clad in a chain shirt and a sword at his side that suggested he was probably some sort of gendarme in the town. He was a grizzled sort, with one ear a tattered ruin and a deep scar across the left side of his face and muzzle that passed beneath an eyepatch.

"Humf," the fox replied in a grunt. "Good way to get folks looking odd at ye."

"Oh, I imagine they're doing plenty of that regardless," Morin said. "Name's Morin, by the way."

"I reckon they are," he agreed, not returning the courtesy of an introduction as he continued, "T'be expected with such an odd one. What's your purpose here?"

"No doubt," Morin said. "Er, well, I'm looking to find her." Morin gestured to the picture for emphasis.

The guardsman looked at the poster, then back to Morin with a grimmer expression. "There's little hope of it, by this point, but if ye want to pursue it I'd suggest talking to the Duke. Quite a reward he's offered for her safe return." Considering the poster didn't mention anything beyond 'Reward', one had to wonder whether the value would be greater or less than for the notorious scofflaw.

"Where might I find him, then?"

"Yon, of course," the fox replied, pointing to the center of the town and the keep, "Where else would a lord be found?" he snorted.

Morin smirked faintly and said, "Very well, thank you." He headed off in that direction.

"Hold," the man interrupted gruffly, digging into a pouch at his belt and his hand emerged with a beaten copper disc that he flipped to Morin. "Show that at the gate else it'll be till Michael's trumpet before ye gain entry."

Morin took it and nodded, and thanked him again before heading off. The fox watched the stranger depart through narrowed eyes, then turned back to resume his patrol. Prosperity was definitely on the upswing as Morin continued further, walled estates to keep out the riffraff facing the street on either side all the way until the keep at the center. An open space of a good hundred feet surrounded the fortified structure on all sides, and guards stood alertly at the main entry.

Morin approached the gate and says, "Er, hello? I'm interested in speaking with the Duke, if I might?" He showed them the disc and said, "I was given this?"

The guards were a bit more heavily armed and armored than the former Morin had met, wearing half-plate armor and holding long halberds... neither seemed anything less than deadly and practical as the foxes moved with an easy competence. One of them takes the disc, then jerks his head for Morin to follow.

"Ven's coin is good enough to get ye that far," he said and made his way through the door.

Morin nodded and followed him through. The guard led through the entry hall and straight ahead, the genre-typical standard of the throne room being a straight line from the entrance seeming to hold true here. It was a few halls and chambers in, and was currently in the middle of a feasting with tables arrayed in neat order and foxes of various noble houses vying for status in different ways. 

Some few of them gave Morin a brief look in passing as the guard led him through and up toward the Duke without any ceremony. "My Lord," he said quietly, almost gently. "Ven has sent someone to speak with you."

The Duke bore some obvious similarity to Fantasia in the white fur and few black markings, but the more distinct similarity was the array of tails which fanned out behind him as he slouched listlessly in his throne. Dark eyes turned dully to look at Morin, and his voice when he spoke bore little energy, "What do you seek here, stranger?"

Morin bowed politely toward him, and said, "I have come to seek for your lost daughter, sir."

That seemed to get his attention neatly, and the guard looked at Morin with quiet approval as he stepped back and put himself out of the way. "Have you any news?" the duke asked eagerly, then slumped. "No, of course not, else you'd not be coming here to seek further, would you?"

"No, sir, not yet, but I mean to find out."

The duke sighed. "Then I shall tell you what I may, though I fear much of what is known is little more than hearsay. Three weeks hence was my daughter riding through the nearby woods, with a full detail of guardsman, but they were beset by foul, short, furless men with horrid jaws that could open wide enough to swallow a man's head, with razored teeth to rend. She fled while they paid a dear price for her freedom... That freedom was not meant to be, as a message was sent which gloated upon her being dragged from her steed and thrown into durance vile. It was signed in a manner that leaves little doubt that it is true, as that one would do anything to thwart me but would not lie... the dragon Khazlenn."

Morin listened to his story, frowning thoughtfully as he did. What was it about dragons and virgins? Well, not that he thought Fantasia was the most virginal creature in the universe, but still.

"So you believe this dragon has her, then?" Morin asked. "If so, where might I find the creature?"

"He lairs somewhere within the depths of the forest," the duke replied, sighing again. "If I knew his location I would have spared no man to wrest her from his clutches..."

"Very well. I shall seek out this dragon," and very likely get eaten, Morin added silently, "and I shall find your daughter."

The duke smiled faintly, though sadly and without much hope. "If you can do this deed, there is no reward within this land that shall be beyond your grasp. The same has been said more than once." here his eyes flashed as he looked out over his court with sudden anger and seemed to grow in stature. "Yet I am surrounded by cowards!" he spat the last, then calmed. "Go with my hopes and blessing, then."

Morin nodded, and gave a bow before turning to leave and start looking.

The guard escorted Morin back out, leaving him in the open plaza before the keep.

Morin wondered just where he might begin, and wished that he had a map marked with "You are here" and "Lair of dragon that's going to eat you is here". But barring that, well... he was sure he'd figure it out one way or another. Unfortunately there was no sign of a local magic map merchant to get him started on the quest, nor did any of the signposts have a 'Dragon 50km' on a convenient arrow.

Morin decided to see about the next best thing. He looked for a tavern. It wasn't difficult to locate one of those, as they were the only sources of activity now that the sun had finally set other than the occasional fox moving along the street. The upper-class district didn't deign to operate such a base operation, naturally, as there were private parties and social functions to do one's drinking at.

About halfway out, though, he ran across a semi-respectable one with a fox juggling grapes on the sign. Certainly not the worst dive he'd seen, more of a quiet place with a few tables scattered around with some various games in progress and other patrons lurking at the bar. A fireplace burned cheerfully on one wall and a bard sang a lilting melodic tale of love lost and forlorn hope... depressing, but he did have a good voice.

Morin meandered over toward the fireplace thoughtfully and listened to the bard a bit. At least, he could be thankful, that this trip didn't involve any pools of molten lava yet.

Seemed the bard's current source material was a lass of many virtues, and knowing the nature of bards he doubtless knew them _quite_ well, who was stolen away by the wings of the night and never to be seen again. Pretty typical tragic fare, but not being particularly well received by the people assembled who were generally ignoring him.

Morin's ears perked in interest as he listened a bit more closely, on the off-chance that there might be a grain of something useful in it.

It was actually not a bad written bit of verse, though very heavy on the poetic praise of lost love and quite morose overall. Most of it was fairly mundane stuff, but the nature of her disappearance _is_ somewhat interesting, as several verses made reference to claws, fangs, wings, and other things that might be readily associated with dragonkind.

Morin tried not to get too jealous at the entire bit, smirking faintly at himself for the thought, and wondered vaguely about the business. Yes, a dragon, of course, he knew that much, as much as it didn't help set him at ease much.

There wasn't a lot that could be classified as concrete info in it, unfortunately, a bard's muse was generally intended to entertain rather than turning in a detailed report. Still, he figured he could use whatever hints he might glean from anything he could get his ears on. He headed over toward the bar.

Morin got the occasional look from the various patrons, but as was usually the case they returned to their own business without going any further. He might have more trouble in a rougher tavern, but this one was pretty much a 'live and let live' kind of place. A petite vixen was working the bar at the moment, though a closer inspection revealed the brace of throwing knife strapped to her forearm... barkeeps, sheesh!

"Good evening," he said, smiling at her as he came up to the bar.

"Well hello there," she replied cheerfully enough and continued with a roguish grin. "What can I do you for?"

"Oh, I was just looking for a little information. Maybe you've heard something," he said.

Her ears swivelled pointedly, "Aye, there's quite a lot these ears have heard, and what would ye be looking to find?"

"Have you heard anything about the Duke's daughter, or this dragon I've heard about?"

"I've heard more than my fill of it," the vixen replied, rolling her eyes and grabbed a rag to wipe down the bar. "It's all anyone talks about lately, and that's not exactly doing much for morose old Mirren over there either. Tsk."

"No doubt," Morin said. "But any clue as to where this dragon might be found, or perhaps, do you know who _might_ know?"

She jerked her muzzle toward the fireplace. "Yon bard of melancholy's the only one to have seen it and lived to tell of the tale. None have e'er returned, and there's little doubt that the Duke's daughter has gone to her final rest by now. A real shame, such a pretty thing..." then coughed with faint embarrassment, "That is, a fine example for us all."

"I would not be so quick to write her off just yet," Morin said, thanking her briefly and heading over toward the bard again. He waited a bit to see if he stopped playing shortly and cleared his throat, and said, "Excuse me..."

The bard looked up from the idle strumming of his lute, having finished his latest song, and asked in a mellow pleasant voice that echoed his singing. "A song for you, stranger?"

"Hate to have to ask, but, the barkeep tells me that you witnessed the capture of the Duke's daughter?"

"Aye..." he replied warily, not trusting the line of conversation as more than one had used it against him, either in mockery or to silence him from... he looked back down to his lute and strummed a melancholy chord, and said softly once more, "Aye."

"I seek to find her, if I can," Morin said. "Where exactly did this take place?"

"Within the western wood, upon the Goblin Path," he replied quietly. "I had ridden from visiting... friends in the forest, intending to meet at a certain place and time of her choosing, but alas it was not meant to be..." The chord had shifted to an entire melancholy tune.

At least that was something he could more reasonably think he might find on a map. "Do not give up hope yet," he said, straightening.

"Gone forever from this coil, I fear," the bard replied with a stubborn melancholy that probably _would_ grate over time. "Borne by the black fiend's wings to his lair in the setting sun."


	4. The Dragon's Lair

Morin decided to extricate himself from the bard before he got depressed, politely bid him farewell, and headed out. Morin heard a few more phrases of utmost despair tested before he got out of earshot, and the night air was a welcome change. In truth, it was easy enough to find the western wood and the Goblin path with a little deduction and... a signpost at the edge of town.

"Well, that's convenient."

Next up, he considered the wisdom of wandering around in the forest in the middle of the night. Then he proceeded to wonder if it would be appreciably safer during the day anyway, all things considered. He pondered that for a long moment.

Well, many old legends had it that many evils slept or were weaker during the day, which would seem to support waiting a while... but then, there were plenty of stories where the monsters didn't give a damn and their mealtime was whenever they could catch it. With this place... there was _no_ telling. On the other hand, purely natural dangers like bandits tended to be pretty much daylight critters, so... hummmm.

This line of thinking led him to wondering whether it was more stupid to do something stupid without realizing it, or realizing it was probably stupid and doing it anyway.

Unfortunately, following _that_ line of thinking took him all the way back to the bar on Daresa and perhaps wondering why he'd gone along with any of the craziness to begin with... of course, having someone around who enjoyed your company and wasn't shy about late-night activity did have certain advantages too.

Finally he figured that he was probably already stupid to be in this situation in the first place, figures to hell with it, and just headed off into the forest. What was night vision for if you never got to use it, after all?

The forest was no more or less noisy than it had been during the day, really, though whether that was an encouraging sign or not was up for debate. At least the road was easy to follow with his night vision, the soft slips of moonlight that filtered through the trees is more than sufficient to steer by. Sadly, this road was no more straight than the one he'd came into the forest by, and he found himself traipsing _all_ over the place.

Morin wasn't too concerned about getting lost as long as he had something to follow at least. He strolled along calmly enough, although alert for anything jumping out at him in case he ended up having to duck, dodge, jump, run away, or squeal like a girl.

Being alert did have certain advantages when wandering through unknown and potentially hostile territory. Err, potentially nothing, there was a dragon out here, maybe some goblins, and both of those have always had a long standing hatred for elves in most stories. A flash of white between two trees off to one side of the path caught his attention perhaps a half hour in, though no positive identification was made.

Morin paused and looked over to where he saw it, quirking an eyebrow and wondering. 'Hmm,' he thought.

Peering intently into the area, Morin detected a faint movement in the underbrush which quickly stilled, and then he caught the glitter of moonlight from dark, liquid eyes watching him from intended concealment.

"Hmm," Morin said quietly. "You again, hmm? Don't be scared. It's just me."

The fox managed to convey chagrin in its lithe movements as it emerged from the brush, it _had_ been trying to be stealthy, but it drew closer than before to look up at him with bright interest.

Morin chuckled softly. "Can't hide from me. When I'm paying attention at least. And not, you know, running headlong into low hanging branches or anything..."

It didn't laugh at him aloud, but the slight gape of delicate jaw and loll of pink tongue conveyed it well enough. After a moment though, it padded delicately forward and curled itself against his leg.

"Aww," Morin said, his cute-o-meter promptly breaking.

There was no way of knowing for certain just what was going on here, but it was pretty apparent by this point that there was _some_ connection with this little fox and Fantasia. The fox made a soft murr, then walked away to stand in the middle of the path and looked off in one direction, then back to him.

"Off we go again, eh?" Morin said, heading after the fox.

She yipped softly in bright agreement and flowed into the forest, though stayed closer this time to guide the path more finely. There were indeed things going bump in the night, and she fully intended to stay away from as many as she could on the way.

One of those things could be heard in passing as a low rumble of voices in the near distance, but she steered them carefully in an arcing path to avoid the goblin camp. Morin was perfectly happy to avoid any goblins or anything else that might care to slice, maim, murder, cook, eat, stab, tie up, waylay, or otherwise inconvenience him.

Their path proved to be very safe, the little fox seemed to have a real nose for trouble... clearly another connection, except Fantasia would probably have followed it _to_ trouble! At last, though, she stopped and sank low to the ground and looked up at Morin as though trying to convey something.

Morin stopped close behind her and crouched down, raising an eyebrow and looking ahead. She looked satisfied at his actions, extreme caution being what she'd been trying to get across, then crept stealthily forward through the last trees that separate them from a dark bowl in the earth.

A single low-banked campfire lay at its center with three blocky, shadowy figures sitting near it and conversing in low, ugly tones. A darker hole in the night lay beyond them... a cave mouth.

Hmm, interesting, Morin thought. Could this be it, then? Unfortunately, he figured, finding this dragon was the easy part, finding Fantasia and getting her out without either one of them being mangled, maimed, etc, was the hard part.

Morin crept to the edge with surprising stealth and gave no hint to the figures below, or more precisely, the three redcaps he'd seen at the beginning of this crazy detour into the Twilight Zone. How could he tell? One of them was still wearing the highly polished shoes he'd been wearing, and they went a lot better with a mafia uniform than with peasant motley.

That was a good sign, he thought. Well, about as good a sign as he could hope for at any rate. He wonders if this dragon's lair, as he presumed it was, had a back door. Vaguely he imagined a service entrance where people delivered truck loads of pizza... Smirking faintly, he shook that image from his mind.

The little fox backed away from the rim and looked at Morin for a long minute, then flitted her tail and darted back into the cover of the forest. She'd done all that she could, there was literally no more place for her here, or soon wouldn't be with a little luck...

Morin stared at where the fox had been for a long moment before creeping off to see if, by chance, he might find a back entrance. It was worth a shot, he figured. He did his best to make sure that they didn't hear him and that he could still get back there failing all else.

He was able to complete a pretty thorough search of the area, but unless the back entrance was way the hell out there then there wasn't one. Not a sign of any other possible way in was found.

Well, he figured, in that case, a distraction or something was in order. He picked up the nearest rock, and thought, 'I can't believe I'm doing this.' He proceeded to chuck it off to the side into a random section of forest where he was definitely not standing at the moment.

The rock bounced off of a tree and went caroming into the underbrush, creating enough noise to wake the dead, not to mention bringing three semi-alert redcaps instantly to attention. They had a quick rumbled conversation, then more or less stealthily make their way up the side of the bowl in the direction of the disturbance and disappeared into the shadows of the forest.

Morin couldn't believe that that stupid trick actually worked, and proceeded to take advantage of the distraction and darted into the cave entrance. Now, getting out again might be more difficult... but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

The cave opened immediately into a _huge_ cavern, and he was pretty sure that he was in the right place from the piles of gold and other precious metals, gems of all flavors, statues and figurines, ancient tomes of magic dark and light, and random miscellaneous treasure all _over_. Beyond that, though, the center of the cave had a single ray of light that shone down on a stone slab... where a familiar form lay motionless.

His recent luck seemed to be running out as he steps out of the entrance and a deep voice sighed in disgust, "It's so hard to find good help these days..." The source became obvious as two lantern eyes blinked in the darkness nearby and then raised up and up and... way too high for comfort, and pinned him with a piercing gaze.

Well, he figured, at least he didn't have to crawl through a maze of twisty little tunnels, all alike, too. He cleared his throat and said, "Greetings, oh mighty one." He figured if he couldn't sneak in and steal her out from under the dragon's nose, he might as well be polite to something that could eat him.

"Oh cut the crap," Khazlenn rumbled laughter. "I know what you're here for, it's not as though I don't see a would-be hero a month seeking to earn their name by carving it in my hide. So let's cut to the chase, shall we?" Definitely a little..... odd for a fantasy dragon to be talking like that, but would it be wise to complain about it?

"Why would I want to carve my name into your hide?" Morin said. "That would be awfully painful, wouldn't it? Unless you were into tattoos, but then I don't think you know me well enough for that..."

"How droll," Khazlenn murmured in something somewhat less than the volume of an el-train. "So, what're you here for then, hmm? Looking to cut a deal for the latest black magic grimoire? Seeking a bit of fortune to compensate for other deficiencies? Oh let me guess! You're wanting to pass along a copy of the Watchtower."

Morin smirked faintly, and said, "No, no. I'm here for her." He nodded over toward the fox. "Although I must say... I thought dragons usually go after _virgins_."

"Virgins? Please, a dragon could _starve_ on a diet of those," Khazlenn snorted, a wash of breath rolling over Morin with a faint hint of unidentifiable spices... surprisingly non-offensive for a maiden-devouring monster. "Besides," he continued with dry amusement, "They have no taste to them, utterly bland without a single hint of the spice that life otherwise seasons with."

"I wouldn't know," Morin said. "I can't say I've had the opportunity to eat out a virgin. Er, I mean, eat."

Khazlenn rumbled appreciatively in amusement at the lewd play on words. "It's not the bowl of cherries some would claim it to be." The looming shadow vanished suddenly and a well-built man in a dapper old suit walked out. "May as well be more sociable."

Morin nodded to him with a bit of a grin. At least he seemed less inclined to run after him with an axe than Scregor.

"So," Khazlenn said conversationally. "You want the little fox for some reason..." He lifted a brow and smirks. "I won't even suggest what they might be. There are certain _rules_ and _regulations_ that govern this sort of thing, and they're quite specific that a would-be hero," he gestured to Morin, "must defeat the dastardly dragon, yours truly..." he folded his arms, "I don't suppose you play chess, do you?"

"Occasionally," Morin said. "I'm rather bad at it though. Although I did manage to win once, completely by accident."

Khazlenn pursed his lips thoughtfully. "No, that wouldn't do at all, I much prefer a bit more of a challenge than that, it gets dreadfully dull without a good opponent. Tsk. So, what to do, what to do?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully.

Morin refrained from suggesting "go fish" or the like.

Khazlenn paced in a casual arc that brought him within reach of one of the treasure piles and digs a hand in to let the gold trickle through his fingers. "Hmm, I could go for a good game of Go, but that's probably not your cup of tea either, which doesn't leave much that leaps up to suggest a more... reasonable resolution to this impasse."

"I'm good with card games, though," Morin said brightly. "Like, poker and such."

"Poker?" Khazlenn brightened noticeably. "Oh, it's been _ages_ since I've had a good game of that. Yes, lets, there's certainly enough laying around to act as markers. Although..." he grinned, showing far too many teeth, "Should you lose, what do I win? A final marker against the lady, as it were."

Morin thought for a moment. "Well, I don't think I have anything to offer except myself. I'm afraid I'd be rather tough and stringy, though, I'm sure."

Khazlenn looked him over, shrugged. "A devil's bargain it shall be, then."

He summoned a table and arranged gold for each of them to play with. The game was... interesting in the extreme. It was a pretty level field for the first few hands, then Morin began to accumulate a fairly sizable lead which set Khazlenn to grumbling something about a fool and his money. Soon after, though, the tide turned and it was Morin's turn to sweat. His pile of gold was looking depressingly depleted when a final move of desperation nets unexpected results... and Khazlenn conceded defeat with a fold of his hand.

"Oh fine, fine, she's yours," he said, "But you'll have to figure how to wake her. I didn't do it, it's just the rules of the game."

Morin relaxed somewhat and smiled faintly and gave a bow of his head before heading over toward her and looked her over.

Khazlenn grumbled a bit and went to sit on a pile of gold, watching Morin otherwise silently. Fantasia seemed normal, other than the fact that she was dressed in an outfit that would make an SCAer princess drool in envy, and truly did seem to be sleeping peacefully with her hands folded on her stomach, breast rising and falling in the normal rhythms of breath.

Morin stood and looked at her for a moment, a faint smile playing on his lips. He proceeded to do the only logical thing that comes to mind -- he leaned over to kiss her.

There was a bright flash from nearby, but it was a secondary consideration as Fantasia stirred at the touch of lips and her eyes flickered open. "Mmmm, Morin?" she murmured sleepily, a hand lifting to touch his face lightly, "I was having the strangest dreams..."

Morin grinned broadly, and said, "Somehow, I would not doubt that in the slightest."

Fantasia stretched languidly, then pushed to a sitting position, still noticing nothing of the room around or her own state as yet. A quirked smile touched her lips as her fingers traced the line of his jaw and up to the circlet at his brow. "What _have_ you been up to?"

Morin snickered softly. "That's a long story, I think. Well, no, I think it's really more of around a medium-length story, actually. I wouldn't really say 'short', but..."

Fantasia swung her legs over the edge of the slab and sat there, then impulsively leaned against Morin and curled her arms around, head nestling to his chest as she murmured, "Why do I get the feeling that I already know some of it?"

Morin put his arms around her and cradled her gently. "Perhaps," he said.

"Awww, isn't that sweet?" Khazlenn said, clapping politely as he walked toward them.

Fantasia looked past Morin, not stirring from the cirle of his arms, and started to shoot a look of pure venom at the speaker... but stopped with a dumbfounded look. "Mountainshadow?"

Khazlenn bowed with a grin. "At your service, child. It's good to see you again."

Morin chuckled softly, squeezing Fantasia gently.

"Where? ... What?" Fantasia was uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

The dragon chuckled at the turn of events. "Perhaps you should ask your father. He'll be best able to answer the questions you have. My humble part in this Tale is done."

Fantasia heard the capitalized 'Tale' and her eyes went wide as she looked up at Morin in horror. "Oh no! What did they drag you _into_? Dammit, dad!" She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and ducked her head.

Morin smirked faintly, and said, "I've no idea, but your friend here is a fine poker player. Shall we go?"

"Yeah," Fantasia replied and drew reluctantly away to stand, only then noticing her elaborate garb and directing an expression of disgust at it. "Ugh..." She shook her head and looks at Mountainshadow, "He sent me to the _fantasy realm_? That's low even for _him_!"

The dragon grinned. "Oh, you have _no_ concept of what he'd consider a low blow, if you think that. He missed you, child."

She looked indignant at the thought, then sighed and grinned a little. "Yeah well, I've seen worse, just... gads, I'm gonna _smack_ him!"

A door appeared in the air nearby and the dragon waved to it with a grin. "Then by all means, do so. I'm sure he'd be disappointed if you didn't."

Morin chuckled softly. "Yes, just think, you've slept through all this, and it didn't even involve molten lava in any way, shape, or form."


	5. Fatherly Meeting

He took her by the arm, gives a wave to the dragon, and headed through. The door opened out into a dimly lit storage room, and Fantasia glowered as she looked around.

"Ooooh, Mac... you _rat_!" Fantasia muttered.

Smirking, she took Morin by the arm and headed for the door that led back out into the front areas of the cafe they'd started in. She changed their appearance, even though it wasn't really necessary in _this_ place, and made for the patio.

A well-dressed Asian man was sitting at the table they'd been sitting at earlier, though the appetizer trays on the linen-covered surface were still warm... realm traveling often did weird things with time.

"Kyoko," the man smiled warmly and rose. "It is very good to see you again."

Despite her earlier declaration, Fantasia folded at seeing him and just stepped forward to hug him tightly. "Hi dad," she said, voice tight with barely held emotion, then pushed away to motion to her companion. "This is Morin, you know, the guy you just put through however many kinds of hell."

Morin laughed lightly. "Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad. Hi." He waved cheerfully.

"I like him," the man said with a bright spark of mischief in his eyes... clearly the source of Fantasia's own inclinations. "Please, have a seat and join us for dinner, that _was_ why I invited my rather rebellious and wayward daughter, after all." He settled back in his seat and Fantasia found a chair as well, smirking.

"Couldn't you have found something a little more sane to welcome me back with?" she asked, then looked at Morin. "This is my father, most often known as a world class pain in the..." she broke off at a pointed cough from her father and laughed a bit, "posterior, but some people know him as Prince Inari."

"Inari, please." He waved it off and grinned. "Kyoko has turned dreadfully stodgy in her absence, apparently, it was not as though I hadn't arranged things neatly and even played my own role in the Tale." His expression became doleful and lusterless. "Oh my poor, poor daughter, whatever shall I do?"

Morin sat readily enough and settled in for the moment. "A pleasure, I'm sure," he said, then glances over at Fantasia smirking faintly.

Mac appeared with suspicious alacrity to leave menus with them and only offered a grin and tilt of his head to acknowledge the ferocious _glower_ Fantasia bestowed on him. She settled in to page through the many-age menu. The cafe had an incredible reputation for being able to provide nearly anything someone might desire, almost magical in fact...

Inari didn't trouble with the menu, already knowing his preference for the evening, and sipped at a glass of water. "Mmm, so, why don't you tell me a bit more about yourself?" he directed to Morin.

"Well," Morin said. "I'm a half-elf, the worst Void Mage in existence, and I'm from a world called Wilderplane... Nice place, lots of trees. Though I spent a good deal of time in Torn Elkandu and wandering around, ever since I hit puberty and started randomly opening portals to places and falling through..."

Fantasia snorted and said, "You did fine at the competition, so I think that hardly qualifies as 'the worst', and you certainly saved us all well enough for all of that. So don't even..." she trailed off at the sound of a chuckle from Inari and she turned a glare on him, then grinned and blushed faintly at the expression of knowing amusement, "Yeah, well." she finished lamely and returned to the menu.

Inari smiled crookedly, "It would seem Kyoko disagrees in some details, but overall it sounds a most interesting experience. Where are these places you spoke of? I might like to visit them some day."

"Well, the Elkandu called Torn Elkandu the 'Center of the Universe' they say because the Nexus connects to all other worlds, supposedly. Well, I wouldn't know about 'all', there must be an awful lot of them after all, but still. And I'm not sure it's really the 'center' of anything either, since it's just in the Ethereal Plane adjacent to the world of Lezaria."

"Hmm, the ethereal plane," Inari mused. "Through folklore and mythology, as well as new-age mysticism, I'd hazard a guess that would be what is commonly known as the Umbra here. You spent some small time there, though you didn't realize it since you were within pocket realms the entire time. I know that there are areas where the Umbra becomes something... else, not formed fully yet. The Glass Walkers have experimented in that domain and found some remarkable things about it, going so far as to theorize the ability to travel to other universes. I suspect they'll be thrilled to find that someone managed to validate their idea."

Morin snickered softly. "Different people call it different things, even among the Elkandu," he said. "The 'Ethereal Plane' is the current most common term, but back before the Planar Wars, it was generally called the Dreamworld more often. But ever since the Interdimensional Bridge opened up, there's been a good deal more travel to and from the Elkandu worlds and others... Like these strange mutants and cultists with spaceships raving about dark gods, until someone kicked the crap out of them at least... and some more benign visitors that were less likely to shoot at everyone in sight, too."

"Ahhh, undoubtedly the same then," Inari replied. "As the fae refer to it as the Dreaming. Speaking of..." he broke off as Mac returned to take their orders. He went with lobster while Fantasia went with a spiced chicken that she'd missed since she was here last. He continued once the elf had gone, "And do you have a barrier between the worlds as here? The Gauntlet is an interesting phenomenon."

Morin said, "From what I've heard, that's similar to what the Elkandu call 'the veil', the barrier between the physical and ethereal planes. Although they rarely call it much, since it's apparently very weak, and very easy to cross between them."

"The Weaver has strengthened it here," Inari replied. "Though any shapeshifter can cross it with a reflective surface, it is simply more difficult in some places where natural forces are at their weakest. The Sept of Dreams, as an example, has a Gauntlet so thin that it may be passed with a thought, even the spirits going from one world to the other nearly at will."

"Most of the Elkandu rely on magic for _everything_ ," Morin said. "Even those few who bother with technology end up making crazy soul-powered magical spaceships and the like." He shrugged helplessly. "There's around a dozen or two different worlds around there that the Elkandu generally go to, but there's a lot of them and some are really strange..."

"Oh, magic _is_ very foxy," Inari grinned, "but when all is said and done it's merely a tool like any other, and has its limitations which are sometimes better-addressed by other means."

He lifted a brow as a fox-yip sounded, and Fantasia jumped in surprise until she recognized the sound and dug her cell phone out of the backpack that had been left behind earlier.

She made a face as she took a look at the display. "How did he find out I was back so soon? Ugh, damn Sixshooter." She muttered and turned off the ringer, then shoved the device back in its side pocket. "Appointment with Gadget tomorrow," she explained, then smiled apologetically to Morin. "You probably won't want to be there for it, he'll want to check on my implants, it's... not pretty."

"Implants?" Morin said, quirking an eyebrow.

"I'm sure you've seen the scars." Inari smirked, but relented with a light laugh at the indignant look he got from Fantasia. He'd never approved of the things, certainly not for his own daughter, but she was her own woman... painful as that admission might be for any parent of a well-loved child.

Fantasia smirked after the glare and nodded. "Yeah, I had a, uhhh, bad experience a while back and ended up needing my spine replaced. I went ahead and had Gadget do some wetware since he was already in there. Reflex boosters, primarily, and they're designed to shift when I do. He'll have to open up to take a look."

"Uhh," Morin said, "Okay, how exactly does that work with a person that can change form at will, anyway? Especially considering your wish."

Fantasia winced. "Yeah, I thought of that, but kinda put it out of mind when I didn't notice any problems. Gadget's probably going to flay me alive for it, too."

Inari's interest was obviously piqued by the hints regarding the shapeshifting, but held his peace in the hopes of gleaning more indirectly before having to pry it from his daughter later.

"But anyway," she went on, "They pulled some really interesting stuff out of the Machine a while ago, waaaay before the Awakening when they could start to let it out to the public. I don't know the deep details on it, I leave the gizmology to the experts, but it comes down to a flexible structure that melds with the spiritual aspect of the shapeshifter to allow the flexibility necessary."

"Though I'd imagine it only ends up working _now_ because you think it ought to and not because it actually has to," Morin pointed out. "If it even still does."

Fantasia chewed her lip thoughtfully and nodded. "Yeah, it may well be, I don't know exactly all what the wish did, but I've had some really weird feelings like things aren't quite how they used to be. Being able to shapeshift into anything would almost require a more fluid base structure, wouldn't it?"

Morin gave a nod. "Metamorphs' base form is something like a silvery ooze, actually."

"Like Odo?" Fantasia made the obvious comparison and made a face, "Ew, I am _not_ sleeping in a bucket!"

Morin blinked for a moment. "I don't know about _buckets_ , but I heard that one spent an inordinate amount of time as a potted plant... Although I suppose it would be a great way to eavesdrop. Unless somebody notices the plant has an aura."

"I won't try to sneak in on the leeches then," Fantasia smirked. "Since they can not only see auras but can tell a shapeshifter from a leech just by the brightness of the aura."

Morin chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat, and glanced over toward Inari again with a faint smirk. "Probably have no idea what we're talking about huh."

"Oh, I can make a semi-educated guess from what I've heard so far," Inari replied, grinning brightly. "And I'll admit that the prospect of the wide range of ability that my dear, foolish child seems to have stumbled upon is quite intriguing. How, precisely, was this miraculous thing achieved? I've never heard of a shapeshifter capable of any form beyond that which Gaia charged us with."

"She won the Illusion Non-Combat event at the Eight Septennial Grand Elkandu Magic Competition, earning a wish sponsored by Shazmar, the, er, deity-type being of the Elkandu."

Inari turned a look of surprised pride on his daughter, his voice gentle as he said, "It would seem that you have done very well for yourself, dear Kyoko, and surely Gaia was wise to grant your ninth tail at last."

Fantasia looked shocked as the praise registered and smiled as she basked in it for a moment, then blinked in shock once more. "Wait... what... run that by me again... _nine_ tails? What are you talking about?"

Inari chuckled and looked at Morin with a quirked grin. "Brilliant and blinding as the sun, and yet so slow in some things."

Morin chuckled softly. "Occasionally," he said with a smirk.

Fantasia untucked her tails in disbelief, the floofy things fanning out around her and she counted them carefully. She squealed in unabashed delight as she confirmed what she'd been told and shifted suddenly to her four-footed foxish form and began to strut around the table with her tails held smugly high.

Inari chuckled and shook his head. "On that, however, I believe I shall retire for the night. Once her feet are once more upon the ground, remind her of the suite she occupied when she was here last. I've kept it intact for her." He stood, then leaned over to gently pat the oblivious fox lightly on the head in passing, then looked back to Morin. "It's been a pleasure indeed to meet you."

Morin chuckled again and inclined his head to Inari. "Yes, a pleasure. Good night."

Inari offered a polite bow to Morin, glanced fondly at the still strutting fox, then faded from sight in a shimmer of light to the Umbra. Somewhere along the way he'd taken a fancy to a certain feline attitude, though, and his parting grin hung upon the air until it, too, faded finally.

It was a few minutes more of self-satisfied gloating, getting a tail was a _big_ deal for a kitsune, but Fantasia pulled herself back together and realized her father left without her noticing. She looked a bit embarrassed, but shrugged it off and sidled over to Morin to slip an arm through his. "C'mon hero, let's go find a proper reward for your trouble..."


End file.
